


Molasses

by takaraikarin



Category: EXILE (JPOP), Exile Tribe, Sandaime J Soul Brothers, 三代目 J Soul Brothers
Genre: Contemplative Fic, High&Low RPS, M/M, Mutually Unrequited, Pining, for now, where the fuck are my slash fans at in this fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 01:02:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8080630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takaraikarin/pseuds/takaraikarin
Summary: Slashy timestamp for that time they were shooting 「High&Low」 together in the Philippines and supposedly spent it in each other's back pockets. I made them spend it in a resort-y atmosphere. Call it artistic license.





	

**Molasses**

 

The sun on his back had angled slightly in the sky when Takahiro opened his sleep-heavy eyelids, but he was still too not-really-conscious to bother testing the mobility of his limbs. His limbs, that had been persevering under relentless scheduling, before he was finally allowed to stop and let the world and time differences right itself. Besides, ignoring his abused muscles and tired legs, Takahiro was half convinced his shooting partner was going to pass out any minute from overexertion. Takahiro could recall the harsh wheezing breath coming in gasp from the younger man as he asked the director for a retake. _I can do better, he’d said at the time_ , and Takahiro could only held back from saying _you’ve done good enough_ , and wanting to sit the guy down, make him take deep breaths, make that over-analysing brain of his to slow down for a while, just enough so he doesn’t look like he veins were made of too taut strings, ready to shred at any minute.

It made Takahiro ache just thinking about it.

The memory of that ache, like a tight grip around his chest, made Takahiro half opened his sleepy eyes again at the relaxed figure Omi portrayed, lying on the pool chair beside his. A complete opposite to the ball of anxiety he came back to the hotel with late last night.

Now under brilliant tropical sun he looked positively glowing, his face relaxed from a good night’s sleep. The small breeze plays with the soft strands of his hair, almost in slow motion.

In fact, everything seemed almost in slow motion.

Looking at his relaxed profile through sleep-addled brain and the humidity that seemingly covered everything in a sheen molasses of lethargy, made him look like he’s underwater. Takahiro could practically see the glittering sparks of light tickling the corner of his sight, adorning Omi’s figure the way languid water stream would shimmer under vibrant sunshine. It made Takahiro want to reach out and pull him to shore, else the current would take him too far for Takahiro to reach.

He was already too far to reach as it was.

It felt like the most natural thing to want to tug him closer, to want to seal their lips together so he could exchange water with oxygen, so he could feel the rise and fall of his chest against his own clammy, molasses covered palms. He’d surely drown if Takahiro doesn’t do that, and then what would he do when he wanted to see clever eyes and sardonic smiles? The longer Takahiro wait the further the languid current seemingly carried Omi away, his body looking unsettlingly still.

A kiss, then. To magic him awake like faeries, like angels, like imps with clever eyes and sardonic smiles.

He wondered if there’s an equivalent tales of magical kisses in this foreign island. He’d love to learn of them if there is. He felt humidity dragged sleepiness heavier against his eyelids as he once again succumbed to sleep.

He wondered of the kiss he dreamed.

 

\--

 

Omi woke up slowly, the only correct way to wake up on lazy days, a heartbeat or an eternity later. He could feel yesterday’s headache clearing into an easily ignorable tugging against his brows, and the faint hunger in his stomach.

His eyes were at half-mast as he contemplated waking fully, contemplated putting actual food down his throat. His mouth felt prickly, like it was tender, slightly more sensitive to touch. He licked his lips and tasted honey. A curious thing, maybe he really was craving food. Something sweet should do.

He sat up slowly while stretching luxuriously, arms to the sky and back arched, making satisfying popping noises from having been still for so long.

‘You’re awake?’ He heard from his side, and turned to see Takahiro-san also lazily raising from his pool chair and planting his feet on the tiles, elbows on knees, popping knuckles.

‘Hm. I think I got hungry and woke up.’

At that, Takahiro-san’s face looked more alert as he fished around the stacks of mags and books on the small table under their shared beach parasol. He triumphantly pulled out the heavily decorated menu book and handed it to Omi. ‘Their food is excellent,’ he enthused, his blinding smile already beginning to bloom. Omi contemplated the unfairness of that perfect smile against his half-awake brain.

He ran his tongue along the curve of his lower lip, chasing the sweetness he’d tasted in that moment between conscious and unconsciousness with the menu opened on his lap. It’s almost as if the simmering heat was playing tricks on his senses. Even the soft sea breeze, pleasantly cool on his skin, seemed like it couldn’t be trusted. It felt like being woken up with a caress, and it somehow prickled another faint memory in him, like a more nebulous déjà-vu. The soft breeze carried a waft of sweetness with it and it was startling enough his lingering sleepiness was almost whisked away.

‘What is it?’

Takahiro-san said from somewhere a little outside of Omi’s peripheral vision, and he had a second to wonder at his perceptiveness. ‘I smell something…’ sweet. Honeyed. ‘good.’ 

Takahiro-san sniffed the air, looking like the big dog he sometimes resembled. Wow, he sounded really stupid there. It’s a good thing he wasn’t prone to blurt out sleepy musings. ‘Ah, that’s they’re honey pancakes, it’s their specialty. I ate that for breakfast, you want some?’

And there it was, another prickle of not-quite-memory. Unthinkingly Omi’s eyes rested on Takahiro-san’s glistening mouth.

The residue of honeyed sweetness on his tongue made his mouth froze, even as he knew he should be answering Takahiro-san’s question. He forced a gulp of spit down his throat and broke eye contact, and mumbled a _yeah, sure_.

‘Kay, I’ll order then. They’re really good. The staff said the honey is fresh from their own farm, so the sweetness is not too cloying.’

‘Hmm…’ Omi replied absentmindedly. He wondered about cloying sweetness and honeyed kisses, things you’re forgiven to ponder upon in high humidity and monsoonal wind.

Behind him, Takahiro ran a tongue against the persistent sweetness of honey on his own lips, thoughts wandering towards half-sleeps and stolen kisses.

He wondered if those are things he's allowed to want in places with concrete blocks and harsher wind, far away from this nebulous heaven.

 

_Stop._


End file.
